


Brighter Than the Sun

by Meilan_Firaga



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Community: hp_drizzle, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, F/M, HP Drizzle Fest 2020, Marriage Proposal, Mention of Narcissa Malfoy, Minor Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Superstition, background Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy - Freeform, mention of Draco Malfoy - Freeform, mention of Molly Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: Ron Weasley has found the love of his life. All he needs to do is get the asking right and he's sure Pansy Parkinson will agree to tie their lives together... if only the weather would cooperate.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: HP Drizzle Fest 2020





	1. Need a Rain Check

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightfalltwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/gifts).



> Written for HP Drizzle Fest 2020.
> 
> Prompt #52 by nightfalltwen  
> It rained the first time he asked her to marry him. It snowed the second time he asked her to marry him. "Stop asking me when the weather is poor!"

The plan was perfect. 

The basket was packed, laden down with the weight of sandwiches and pasties and pies. His mother had jumped at the chance to fill it for him. He refused to tell her anything more than that he wanted it for a date, but Molly Weasley had a gift for jumping to conclusions. Ron could practically see the mental leaps as she made them. The order of operations flickering in her eyes went picnic, proposal, another big wedding to plan and execute, marriage, and then the much-desired reward grandbabies from her youngest son.

She wasn’t wrong about the plan, of course, but Ron wasn’t about to tell her that.

The day was September 27th, and it was eighteen months to the day since he first took Pansy Parkinson out to dinner and ended up asking her to be his girl before they’d even gotten to dessert. Their relationship came out of left field for the both of them, but they just  _ worked _ in a way that neither of their relationships with other people had worked before. As uncanny as the whole thing was, Ron couldn’t imagine his life going any other way. He needed her in his life. He didn’t want to wake up in the morning, go to bed at night, or even do something as simple as having a game of wizard’s chess with Harry without knowing that Pansy was going to be there.

So, he made the plan. Aside from the knowing looks, it was an easy thing to ask his mother for the basket. Ron could barely boil water for tea, and he didn’t want to risk spoiling the day with inedible food. There was a beach in southeast England. It was a place where Pansy’s mother had taken her when she was a child for Saturday brunch every week during the summer. Their first summer together she’d insisted on taking him there for walks in the surf and picnics where they swapped childhood stories and laughed under the sun. The beach was a host of wonderful memories, and it was the perfect place to start their new life together.

“I’m telling you,” Pansy began as they were gathering their things to leave the flat they shared in London, “we should put this off until next week. It’s not a good day for the beach.” She’d said some variation of that multiple times over the course of the morning, but Ron just couldn’t bring himself to listen. 

“Nah, it’s gonna be perfect,” he insisted. “You’ll see.” He’d worked so hard to get the day ready. He wasn’t about to reschedule and risk losing his nerve. When he turned to take her hand in order to apparate them to the safe landing zone near the beach he didn’t notice the raincoat draped over her elbow.

The rain began to pelt down in fast, heavy waves the moment they finished unpacking the picnic. Pansy practically dove into her raincoat, and they were both swift to re-pack the basket, wands flashing through quick movements. Quick thinking, though, was not enough to prevent them from getting completely drenched as they sprinted for shelter beneath one of the docks. There was just enough space to stand upright while the tide was out, and they made use of it to catch their breath while the rain poured down. It was so thick in places that the beach beyond the dock’s edges could hardly be seen at all.

“I told you today would be rubbish for the beach,” she huffed with a hint of a laugh.

The sight of her there—dark hair slicked down around her face, hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips—was enough to take Ron’s breath. It had taken so long for him to see her like this, completely open and willing to laugh. The basket came to rest gently on the ground. His knee found its way to the sand. He’d just pulled the velvet box from the pocket of his denims and taken a deep breath for fortification when he looked up and found her eyes fixed on him.

She wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley,” she hissed, her face twisted in a way that said she was fighting not to default to the vicious sneer he remembered from Hogwarts. “Beneath a dock. Soaked by rain you refused to see coming. With a dead fish a foot and a half away.” She pushed a hand through her sodden locks of hair, forcing them out of her face, and fixed him with a venomous glare. “Don’t you dare.”


	2. Atmosphere and Intention

After the disaster in September, Ron went back to the drawing board. He couldn’t use the same plan again, and he especially couldn’t do it so soon after the beach had gone so horribly wrong. Pansy hadn’t said another word about it. Granted, she’d teased him plenty about how he’d insisted on going to the beach even when she’d pointed out that it wasn’t going to end well, but when it came to his moment on bended knee she’d taken to pretending that it never happened. The words were left unsaid, so apparently it simply didn’t count. Ron was not about to complain.

This time he was going to get it right.

Holiday proposals were  _ a thing _ . He could distinctly remember hearing Ginny and Hermione giggling about how romantic they were when they were younger. The festive atmosphere, cheery seasonal spirit, and lovely snow-filled landscapes could make a perfect backdrop. 

The only trouble was deciding when during the holidays to make the move. There was no way he was going to do it at a gathering with either of their families. His family would manage to turn it into a grand (and joke-filled spectacle) while hers… Well, while they’d stopped being quite so rude after Pansy delivered a scathing speech against their classist behavior the previous year they still didn’t exactly approve of him. Besides, asking that particular question was personal. It needed to be treated personally, and that meant without a giant familial audience.

So, he’d decided on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve. They were meant to be attending a big party at Grimmauld Place. If he got the proposal handled over the afternoon she’d be able to show off the ring—a much fancier rock than he might have chosen if he hadn’t gone to Draco Malfoy for help picking it out. She liked showing off jewelry. She still made a point of telling everyone she could about the earrings he’d bought for her last birthday every time she wore them. 

He took her to a posh new restaurant down Diagon Alley for lunch, and then they swung into Florean’s for a couple of coffees. The ice cream shop didn’t have a huge winter sales push for their usual fare, so they’d taken to offering hot beverages and baked goods since the war ended. Pansy loved fancy espresso drinks, but she rarely let herself have them. They had their coffee sitting in the window of the cheery little shop, watching the world outside pass them by.

The weather wasn’t on his side this time either. The sky looked nothing short of maudlin. A blanket of fluffy white snow had covered the city just two days prior, but the morning had been unseasonably warm. The dark clouds occasionally let loose with a depressing drizzle that wasn’t quite cold enough to be pretty flakes, and the constant foot traffic had turned what ground cover remained to a dull grey slush. It was less than ideal, but still workable. What mattered was the atmosphere and the intention, after all. He certainly had those down to an art.

Ron held the door for her as they left the shop and offered her his elbow when they began to move along. On their third date he’d taken her to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to show her the workings of the shop. It was the first time he’d ever heard her really laugh, and that was where he steered her as they made their way down the street. He reminded her of the story while they walked, delighting in her warm laughter as she recounted the streak of neon pink he’d ended up wearing in his hair that day. A few paces from the shop’s front door he took her hand from his arm, spun her in a little circle and pulled her close. They swayed gently on the cobblestones for a few breaths, her arms around his neck. He placed a sweet kiss to the tip of her nose and dragged her as close as he could, pressing their bodies together. She stiffened.

“Ronald,” Pansy breathed, her face just inches from his own. Her eyes narrowed. “It feels like you’ve a box in your pocket.”

He swallowed, his heart pounding. That irritated steeliness he remembered from the beach was back in her gaze. “I might have.”

She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow, her eyes boring into his. Slowly, moving in a way she could be sure would entice him to follow her gaze, she looked from his face to the filthy slush on the street and up to the ugly grey clouds overhead. By the time their eyes met again her lips were pressed so tightly together that they were turning white in a few spots. Ron could feel the tips of his ears burning.

“Might be I could leave it where it is,” he choked out after a long, awkward moment.

“You do that.” She sniffed primly. “You can’t expect a favorable response to such things when you keep picking such miserable weather.”


	3. Think Tank

“I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong!” Ron moaned, his words muffled by the pillow he had clamped over his face. He was flopped over the arm of a couch in one of the upstairs rooms of Grimmauld Place. Harry sat beside him on the couch, patting his shoulder in solidarity. Hermione was curled into an armchair with a book in her lap, though she did at least have the grace to keep it closed while Ron bemoaned his situation. Somewhere on the floors below the New Year’s party raged on, but at Ron’s behest the three of them had retreated as soon as they were able to slip away.

“You’ve got me, mate,” Harry commiserated. “I thought both plans were great.”

Ron flung his arms out to the side, sending the pillow he’d been holding over the coffee table and onto the floor. He sighed, eyes fixed on the patterns in the ceiling. “Maybe she just doesn’t want to marry me.”

Hermione snorted. “If Pansy Parkinson didn’t see marriage in your future you would not have a present.”

“I’m with Hermione on this one,” Harry agreed. “She’s mad about you. There’s gotta be something seriously wrong with the last two attempts. Any ideas?”

“The dodgy weather is the only thing the proposal attempts have in common,” Ron admitted with another long-suffering sigh.

“Except for the fact that she told you not to bother asking both times.”

“Aside from that, yes. Thanks, mate, for the fantastic reminder.” He glared at Harry. “I can’t figure out why she’d be so upset about the weather.”

“I suppose she could be superstitious,” Hermione mused after a moment. The boys gave her twin blank stares. She rolled her eyes and continued. “Draco’s mother and I had a chat about pureblood superstitions over tea some time ago. There are all kinds of strange beliefs surrounding weddings and the road that leads to them.”

Blinking, Ron gestured down the length of his body. “Uh, not to sound like a poncy blood-supremacist, but I’m a pureblood. I think I’d know if there was some crazy weather magic for marriage proposals.”

“Right, because we all know you’re in the habit of listening carefully to everything your mother talks about when the topic strays toward relationships and weddings.” She gave them both a very pointed stare.

Harry and Ron coughed, their cheeks coloring as they looked anywhere but directly at their friend. Hermione leaned forward and dropped her book on the coffee table. Then she stood, smoothed the skirt of her tea length party dress, and started to pace. As per usual, she was the one with the information they needed to handle an issue. In an instant she defaulted back to the lecturer’s attitude she’d perfected when they were students.

“Narcissa and I talked more about weddings than proposals,” she admitted, “but I got the feeling that the circumstances of the proposal are supposed to set the tone for the entirety of the marriage. That’s why even in arranged marriages pureblood suitors still bother to set up a fancy way to ask the question.” She chewed on her lower lip, carefully putting the pieces together. “She might believe that foul weather on the day of the proposal means a dreary atmosphere for the whole marriage.”

Ron blinked at her for a moment, mouth agape. “We live in England, ‘Mione. If that were true all marriages would fail.”

“Please go tell Pansy that right now. I desperately need to witness her reaction to your assessment.” She stopped her pacing at the end of the coffee table closest to Ron and pointed while she spoke. “It explains why she’s so upset, and that means that you need to find a lovely day for your actual proposal.”

“Sounds like an easy fix,” Harry chirped, clapping his hands together. “Just keep the ring on you and wait for the next nice day.”

“No,” Ron insisted, shaking his head. He knew his girl, and if her problem with the weather was an issue of setting the tone for the rest of their lives just having a pretty day wasn’t going to be enough. “If she’s superstitious enough to worry about the weather she’s not going to be alright with me dropping to one knee whenever the sun peeks out.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut while he started to run through scenarios in his head. Planning was his strong suit. He could work out strategies for anything if he just had enough time… 

He shot straight up on the end of the couch as an idea flashed through his brain at the pace of a rocket. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was absolutely going to be worth it. Eyes wide, he looked up at Hermione who was staring at him with lifted eyebrows.

“Hermione, I need you to help me drill some spells.”


	4. Third Time's the Charm

Pansy Parkinson walked through the front door of her flat on a Wednesday night in the middle of March. She was over an hour late for dinner, her feet ached, and her hair was a wreck from the bluster of the ridiculous wind that had been ravaging London for several days. On top of it all, Ron had been distant for the last week. If she were honest, he’d been growing more distant since she’d convinced him not to propose on New Year’s Eve. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry him. Quite the contrary, marrying her sweet (if clueless) red-headed boyfriend was at the top of her three year plan. It was just… 

Well, she couldn’t risk the whole thing going belly up in the future because of a botched proposal. Logically, she knew that the whole ‘dreary proposal, stormy marriage’ adage she’d heard her entire life was probably superstitious nonsense. That didn’t mean she was willing to risk the future with her love if there was even the slightest chance of it turning out to be real. Covering all the bases—even the unproven ones—was just good sense.

She sighed as she kicked her heels off in the entryway, sending them off to her closet with a flick of her wand. Her coat was next. It shook itself over the entry rug before settling on a hook by the door. She left her bag under the table and made her way further into the apartment only to stop short at the entrance of their small dining room.

Or, what used to be their small dining room.

Where there used to be an antique table for four in a small room with a big bay window she instead found a forest clearing. Soft, lush grass covered the floor that used to be stained hardwood. Verdant bushes and trees took the place of walls and windows, their lush green leaves fanning across what had once been a ceiling to create a canopy through which dappled sunlight could be seen. There was a plaid blanket spread out in the center of the room, and all of their best dishes were already laid out for the fanciest picnic she’d ever seen. A bottle of champagne was even chilling in a bucket of ice.

“Welcome home.”

No self-respecting Slytherin would ever admit to being so shocked they’d nearly jumped out of their own skin, but Pansy would acknowledge that she was thrown enough by the woodland in her apartment that she may have just flinched when Ron was suddenly talking right behind her. She turned to look at him over her shoulder and couldn’t help the appreciation that lit her eyes as she took him in. He was dressed in a tailored suit that fit him just right in all the perfect places. It was a far cry from the denims and trainers he usually favored at home, but it suited him just as well. He flicked the tip of his wand, and when she turned back to the spread on the dining room/forest floor Pansy found a feast laid out before her.

“I think I finally got a handle on it,” Ron told her, his hand falling to the small of her back as he led her into the room. He took her hand in his own to help her down to sit on the blanket, but he didn’t join her on the ground. “See, I asked around, and it turns out that there are these ideas about proposals reflecting the state of the marriage to follow.”

Pansy tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear and watched him carefully. There was a tilt to the corner of his lips. As she watched he dipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers and retrieved a velvet box she recognized from that day on the beach. He turned it in one hand, and the tilt of his lips turned into a full blown smile. 

“Atmosphere, date, food, and especially weather.” He huffed a little private laugh, his eyes darting to the box before they found their way back to hers. “I wracked my brain trying to figure out how I was going to manage to wait until all the conditions were right, and then I realized something. They were never going to be right.” Slowly, ever so slowly, he dropped down to one knee. “I don’t need perfect conditions. The conditions only matter to me because they matter to you. So, I’ve spent the last three months learning all the spells I needed to make you all of this.” He waved vaguely at the forest around them. “Complete with pretty sunlight. And I would spend so many more months if that was what it took to make you happy.” The box came forward and opened to reveal a silver filigree ring with a pale yellow stone twinkling at its center. “Pansy Parkinson, you are the only sunshine I need. And I will spend the rest of my life creating sunshine for you. Will you marry me?”

On the floor of their London flat, feet still aching from her day while the wind howled just beyond the outside walls, Pansy smiled and said only one word.

“Yes.”


End file.
